Hidden Bargains on the Garden State Parkway

Eagle-eyed travelers along the Garden State Parkway might notice subtle yet distinctive differences to the road's construction as they travel between the New York state border and Cape May. Specifically, in the area between Woodbridge and Cranford, overpasses take the form of attractive stone arches, or in the case of railroad trestles, a combination of stoneface walls and horizontal steel beam. 

Not coincidentally, these small relics of the Parkway's origins also mark a small stretch of the road that's truly a bargain. Those fourteen miles of highway are absolutely toll free.

Not just "no toll plazas, no EZPass." Absolutely free. It's a fine distinction, but hear me out.

The Parkway, like many things in New Jersey, has a complicated origin story, as I was reminded recently when researching a 40 cent difference between the price of gas at the Colonia service areas and every other service area on the Parkway. How is this possible when the NJ Turnpike Authority (and the NJ Highway Authority before it) requires service area operators to maintain the same price for all locations on the road?

The Parkway's early stoneface elements are evident
where the road crosses the Rahway River in Cranford.
Centennial Ave crosses overhead. 

It all goes back to the birth of the Parkway in 1946, when the New Jersey Legislature authorized the State Highway Department to build what was then designated the Route 4 Parkway between Clifton and Cape May, with a spur from Woodbridge to Trenton. Nothing in the original legislation required the legislature to increase the State Highway Department's budget to build a 150-mile long road.  

Ground for the toll-free highway was broken in Clark that year, and the four lane parkway -- including a broad grassy median separating north- and southbound traffic -- began to take shape. A total of 22 miles was built in Union, Ocean and Cape May counties before funds were exhausted in 1952. 

Perhaps the mandate-without-funding method wasn't the best way to go? Governor Alfred Driscoll (namesake of the Raritan-spanning bridge) was committed to getting the highway done and the New Jersey Highway Authority (NJHA) was established in 1952 to complete the project. The NJHA was entrusted to issue voter-approved bonds as a reliable funding source for land acquisition and highway construction, rather than leaving it to the fate of annual state budget negotiations. Bond holders would be paid back with the proceeds from tolls charged at eight planned cross-highway toll plazas and a few on- and off-ramps. Once the debt was paid off, the tolls would be eliminated.*

The legislation that created the NJHA also mandated that the portions of the Parkway that had been built by the State Highway Department with funds from the state budget would be exempt from tollbooths.** Depending on how you define the term, you could say the Parkway is a freeway for that stretch. Considering there was neither a state income tax nor a sales tax at the time, the average New Jerseyan got a pretty good deal from that back in 1952, even if the average 21st century driver doesn't know the difference.

But what's that got to do with the price of gas in Colonia, you ask? 

We get a hint from NJHA brochures issued in the early days of the highway. Chock full of useful details and convenient north-to-south and south-to-north maps, the handouts list the Colonia stations' location as "State Section," indicating that they were constructed with the original part of the Parkway. Indeed, a 2017 NJ.com article notes that the stations were built on private property, though the Turnpike Authority owns the land surrounding them.

Because the gas stations aren't on Turnpike property, they're not required to follow the same pricing rules as the Bon Jovi (Cheesequake), the Houston (Vauxhall) or any of the other service areas. That's why Ivan and I got the pleasant shock of actual cheap gas on a recent drive home from Cape May. 

Whether the big price difference will stick or not, only time will tell, but it's worth keeping an eye on if your travels bring you along that stretch of the Parkway on a regular basis.

At the very least, enjoy your free ride between Cranford and Woodbridge.

*Insert cynical statement here. 

**You can read it in PL1952, chap. 16, page 91, helpfully digitized by the New Jersey State Library here.

A campus stroll through history, as told by trees

In three and a half years and over thousands of miles criss-crossing the state, we've seen a lot of notable trees. We've come upon ancient mighty oaks that witnessed the signing of treaties with the natives and the first American air mail (albeit by balloon), and a large but younger one that provided a customary place for country folks to don their shoes before walking into town. A massive holly spent most of its life in obscurity before becoming a force in changing the route of the Garden State Parkway. A host of famed trees of other species are mostly known for being really old and still alive. The message they all deliver is clear: despite rampant development, New Jersey communities somehow manage to preserve trees that have meaning to them.

What we didn't know was that we could have visited offspring of most of these trees, and more, in one place: the Union County College campus in Cranford. There, not far from the Sperry Observatory, is a grove of 70 trees that comprise the Historic Tree Project. Labeled with nameplates, they represent not only New Jersey but many other notable places around the country.

The New Brunswick white oak that's said
 to have inspired Joyce Kilmer's poem Trees
is represented by this healthy youngster.

A project of UCC biology professor Dr. Tom Ombrello, the Historic Tree Project started in 1997, intending to grow and nurture seedlings and saplings of trees that have some significance in American history. Several seeds or acorns from each historic tree are germinated in the adjacent greenhouse, with the goal of ultimately planting one in the grove. Spare seedlings are shared with other schools, parks and historic societies around the state, with the goal of preserving the parent tree's heritage (or, perhaps, sap-line).

Presidents are well represented, with offspring including George Washington's Mount Vernon holly, red maple and sweet buckeye trees, oaks from Abraham Lincoln's birthplace and resting grounds, and more from notable places in the lives of presidents Jefferson, Grant, Cleveland, Wilson, Eisenhower, Truman and Johnson. Others celebrate groundbreaking African Americans including Booker T. Washington and Martin Luther King. Still more are the progeny of "witness" trees that may still stand at the site of historic events like the Battles of Gettysburg and Antietam, and the attack on the World Trade Center buildings on September 11, 2001.

Over the years, some of the historic trees have been felled by storms or other natural occurrences. Raising plants in climates outside their normal environments can be tricky, making some especially susceptible to the harsh weather extremes we've experienced in New Jersey over the past several years. And, of course, there are the usual four-footed villains to guard against. One might wonder if an acorn from a pedigreed oak, however young, might be an especially tasty treat for an adventurous squirrel, or if the bark of a historic sycamore might be especially pleasing for a deer looking to rub his head.

The project is now focusing on trees representing New Jersey historic people, events and sites, including catalpa, magnolia and buckeye samples from nearby Liberty Hall. Grover Cleveland's birthplace is represented by descendants of the mighty sycamore and a red oak behind the Caldwell home, while a ginko tree reminds us of the Greenwich tea burning. The Pinelands also gets a shoutout with a pitch pine from the area near Tabernacle where Emilio Carranza, the "Lindbergh of Mexico" met his untimely end while flying a goodwill mission in 1928.

Like all living things, trees have a finite life. Even the sturdiest and most ancient eventually die on their own, making projects like these all the more important. Despite the best efforts of preservationists and arborists, we've already seen the passing of storied trees like the Mercer Oak and the New Brunswick Joyce Kilmer Oak, but not before acorns were collected and nurtured. With luck, 200 years or more from now, our own descendants will be able to relax under the boughs of these trees and consider their own links to the past, gain inspiration and do great things in their own lives.

Jingle bells across the Arthur Kill?

Just when you think you've heard about every Revolutionary War story about New Jersey, something else pops up.

A while back I wrote about American troops camping beside the Rahway River in Cranford during the winter of 1779-80. While others were stationed at General Washington's winter headquarters in Morristown, General William Irvine's men were part of the forward defense against potential raids by the British troops stationed on Staten Island. The Redcoats would often come to New Jersey in attempts to steal food and supplies from the locals and had even tried to kidnap Washington.

Morristown gets all the press, but soldiers stationed at the little-known cantonments in Cranford and other communities closer to Staten Island actually had a better time of it. Though everyone had to deal with the heavy snows and cold weather, it was far easier for commanders of the smaller groups to keep their troops fed and housed.

In the midst of this hardship, Washington formulated a daring plan to attack General Wilhelm von Knyphausen's British troops on Staten Island. The narrow Arthur Kill was frozen, offering a rare solid surface for troops to cross from Elizabeth or Perth Amboy. Perhaps Washington was thinking that American forces would be able to reprise the surprise Trenton raid that had turned the tide of the war for the Americans in December 1776.

General William Alexander (a.k.a. Lord Stirling) and Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton met at Crane's Mills on January 13 and 14, 1780 to finalize the tactical aspects of the plan to be executed the following day. Rather than using Durham boats as Washington's troops had in the Delaware crossing, the Americans would be able to use land-based transportation: sleighs.

Yes, you read that right: sleighs. In what's been deemed one of the strangest military operations of the Revolution, Stirling and Hamilton mustered 500 sleighs to transport 2500 troops across the Arthur Kill. One would guess that the secrecy of the operation meant they didn't include jingle bells to the mix.

There's a good reason why there's no famous painting of this crossing to pair with Emanuel Gottlieb Leutze's Washington Crossing the Delaware. Depending on which data source you consult (and there aren't many), the attack was cancelled either because the British had caught wind of it, or due to extreme cold weather. This, however, didn't stop Washington from ordering several smaller incursions on Staten Island throughout the winter months.

Six months later, von Knyphausen would lead these British troops unsuccessfully in the Battles of Connecticut Farms and Springfield. You have to wonder whether those conflicts would have happened had the sleigh attack on Staten Island been executed successfully.

Calling Fred Flintstone: Mastodons in Cranford!

Based on a favorable scouting report from Birding on the Net, Ivan and I struck out two Sundays ago to see who we'd find near the Deserted Village in Watchung Reservation. We'd gotten a somewhat late start after a long day in Atlantic County, so we weren't sure what, if anything we'd discover. An extensive hike brought us an immature red tailed hawk being hassled by blue jays, as well as orioles, a rose-breasted grosbeak, scarlet tanager and others, but the real find was along the park road on our way out.

Driving Glenside Avenue back to Tracy Road, I saw a temporary lawn sign with the outline of what looked like a hairy elephant. The lettering read "Mastodon. Trailside Nature and Science Center."

A nice chunk of the Cranford mastodon's jaw,
plus a tusk to the rear.

A mastodon? This was a new one on me. The county had completely revamped the museum a few years ago to feature much of the local flora and fauna, but they hadn't added any prehistoric creatures. I couldn't remember seeing any fossils in the old museum, either, so this deserved a special visit. As Ivan noted, sometimes the most hidden history is buried beneath our feet.

That was even truer than we realized. Turns out the mastodon in question was found in one of our stomping grounds, Lenape Park in Cranford. WPA workers were digging an artificial lake there in 1936 when they came upon a tusk and jaw from a young male mastodon. Geology professors from both Princeton and Rutgers came to the site to supervise the excavation of the relics, which they later theorized had been transported from elsewhere as the Wisconsin glacier receded.

While the mastodon who gave us these relics may not have been a resident of what later became New Jersey, the species wasn't a stranger to the state. An 1844 discovery in Hackettstown revealed five full skeletons, and the results of a dig in Mannington in the late 1800s yielded nearly a full mastodon skeleton, now a centerpiece of the Rutgers Geology Museum in New Brunswick. A litany of other discoveries is scattered through much of the state.

Here's the mysterious part of the Trailside exhibit: it mentions additional mastodon finds in Union and Westfield, but the accompanying website states that there's no surviving evidence or scholarly notes on artifacts or their whereabouts. Could it be that someone's hiding a mastodon head in their attic? Could it be a stepping stone in a garden, the way another skull was used in Pemberton before being identified for its paleontological value? Check your backyards and cellars and let us know!

When is a hotel not a hotel? When it's the Cranford Hotel!

Go to the downtown business district in many of the older towns on the Raritan Valley railroad line, and you'll see a Victorian era building that might or might not still have a restaurant or a bar, or both. During the the late 1800s and early 1900s when the line was part of the Central Railroad of New Jersey, those were important stops for city dwellers who came out to the 'countryside' for a weekend or maybe longer. Cranford is no different, with the Cranford Hotel standing a few dozen feet away from the elevated railroad tracks.

Today, the Hotel is a local meeting place with reliable dining options and two friendly bars, but it doesn't take in overnight guests anymore. That got me curious. Did the building always offer hospitality? Who stayed there? When did they stop taking in guests? What's upstairs now? I had the chance to get a rare behind-the-scenes chat and tour recently with the Hotel's general manager, Dave Carracino.

Forebears of the current owners bought the Cranford Hotel
in the 1940s for less than $3000. 

The current Cranford Hotel building was constructed in 1893, replacing an earlier structure on the South Avenue side of the block, which had burned down. The railroad tracks were just outside the front door, at grade level in the days before the entire line was elevated to eliminate conflicts with road traffic. In addition to sleeping rooms, the hotel included a bar and a produce store on the ground floor. Visitors today might notice that the room housing the J-shaped upstairs bar has a section called the Tac Room. Barely noticeable now, that separate space is where the produce stand was, and it was still a separate room within the bar until the 1980s. Where the name comes from is a mystery; there doesn't seem to be any connection to horses.

The real surprise for me came when we went to the basement level bar. Evenings there can be a bit boisterous, with sporting events usually playing on several TV monitors, and apparently it was even more so during the Hotel's early days. The cozy fireplace dining area was originally a bowling alley, and the dartboard on the wall near the entrance was once the site of a grill that served quick meals. A relaxing game of ten pins, a burger and brew: what else could a guy want after work?

As you walk around the public areas, you can't help but notice the old-time craftsmanship and details that newer restaurants and bars attempt to recreate for atmosphere: vintage photos, exposed brick walls, wood-fronted beer coolers with those neat metal pull latches. Dave also mentioned that the acoustical tiling in the Tac Room obscures a 12-foot tin ceiling along with the air conditioning ducts.

Guests often stayed for weeks, as noted on these
40+ year-old registry cards.

All of this was very interesting and cleared up a lot of questions in my mind, but my real interest was in the upstairs rooms the public never sees. Dave was kind enough to give me a quick tour, starting with a stop at his office to check out the guest register. Opening a wooden box and pulling out random cards from the late 1950s and early 1960s, he pointed out the numbers printed at the top and bottom of each, representing days of the month. Many of the people staying there were long-term boarders, some living at the Hotel for years. They might have been working in the area and essentially just needed a place to sleep before they moved onto another job someplace else. A few of the cards were bundled together in a rubber band, with a note saying they were in arrears. Somebody owes the Hotel $150 for ten weeks of rooming!

Both the second and third floors have about five rooms apiece, plus a shared bathroom holding a toilet, sink and shower stall. Some of the rooms are larger than others, and all have sufficient space for someone who just needs a basic place to stay. Occasionally, the Hotel gets phone inquiries from travelers looking for lodging, but the building hasn't taken in overnight guests since the early 1970s. In these days of Residence Inns and Homewood Suites, most people wouldn't be satisfied with a small room and a shared hall bathroom. That's not to say that the space can't still be attractive to the right tenant for the right purpose. While the paint and plaster could use some updating, the place is sturdily built and not going anywhere any time soon. The rooms are mostly used for storage now, but you could see where they'd make good office space for small businesses, or maybe lawyers or accountants.

Come to think of it, I wouldn't mind setting up a Hidden New Jersey editorial office there, myself. Proximity to good burgers, New Jersey brews and the Newark-bound train, all in a great old building. What more could we need?

Paddling through the Venice of New Jersey

The Rahway River winds lazily through Cranford, inspiring the town's nickname, the Venice of New Jersey. Luckily, it's too shallow for motored navigation, leaving it the domain of rowers, intrepid and not so much. Back in the day, Cranford residents enjoyed many river festivals, with pageants of intricately-decorated rafts floating downstream. The Rahway also had a major influence on local architecture: many of the Victorian-era homes in the northern part of town show prettier faces on the river side than they do to the streets in front of them.

Boathouses for several canoe clubs once dotted the banks, but today, things are a lot quieter on the Rahway, with just one clubhouse still in operation and renting canoes and kayaks to the public. Ivan and I capitalized on one of this summer's overcast and hot Sunday mornings to venture onto the river.

The route runs through what's probably the curviest part of the river in town, which means that you float under two roads and a total of five bridges from your start on Springfield Avenue to the part of the river near Nomahegan Park where it gets too shallow to row. In between, you get the feeling of being in a much smaller, less densely populated town than you experience by driving through. More than a few of the backyards have small docks or patios directly on the river and overturned canoes on the lawn, waiting for their next adventure. I wished I'd lived there when I was a kid: I'd have probably driven my parents crazy, pleading for a boat of my own.

I'd done the paddle once before with a friend who grew up in town and knew the ins and outs of the river, but that was several years ago and there were far more people out canoeing. In fact, if memory serves, we also ran into one or two kayakers with rods and reels, trying their luck after the state stocked the river. This more recent trip was much more sedate, with only a few other rowers out there.

For intrepid rowers, this is a walk in the park -- no real discernible current, no rapids, just a gentle trip helped along by an occasional paddle. For those who aren't as skilled, there are more than a couple of hazards to make it interesting, mostly caused by rogue tree branches spanning portions of the river. While we were keeping our eyes and ears trained for birds and other wildlife, we had to keep on our toes as not to head straight into a branch. Our biggest challenge was a slalom of sorts, with a large branch hanging low across most of the width of the river at one point, followed by a shorter but still substantial branch coming across the other side just a few yards down. We navigated the course successfully on the way out, but the way back was a little more challenging, with the front end of the canoe grounding against the bank and me with my face squarely in a nice bit of greenery. What is it that they say about 'leaves of three'? Who the heck gets a poison ivy rash from canoeing?

Many naturalists wouldn't have much hope for interesting encounters on a suburban paddle, but we either saw or heard about a dozen bird species. I was a little disappointed not to see any herons or egrets, particularly my favorite, the black-crowned night heron, but we did see three turtles resting on an old log, and some fish swimming about in shallower waters. We even saw a young deer browsing the brush at the edge of somebody's backyard.

Verdict? If you've got a hankering to get out on the water and you can't make the drive out to less populated spots, the Rahway in Cranford is your ticket. You can even take public transportation to get there: the canoe club is a quick, half-mile walk from the NJ Transit station. Just be careful getting your kayak onto the train.

By the way, it wasn't poison ivy, after all, but it didn't hurt to take some precautions when I got home.

Solving a Revolutionary mystery in Cranford

This weekend we took our own sage advice and visited Morristown National Historical Park, not just for the reading of the Declaration of Independence, but for a chat with the Revolutionary War soldier who fought with the Second New Jersey Regiment at the Battles of Connecticut Farms and Springfield. I was thoroughly impressed by the discussion - though challenged to speak as if it were July 1780 - and had the chance to get a few small but important questions answered.

For one, I've long been curious about markers like this one in Sperry Park in Cranford:

I knew, of course, that Washington's troops wintered in Morristown in 1779-80, but what were these others doing in Cranford? With the arrival of the army in Jockey Hollow, Morristown had become one of the most populated (if not the most) areas in the States, so was it that there wasn't room for Irvine's men? Why in heck were they stationed on the Rahway River, roughly 20 miles southeast of Washington's headquarters? Naturally, I couldn't tell the reenactor about the monument in the park; instead I had to tell him there had been troops in Crane's Ford recently, but I didn't know why.

The reason for the encampment becomes clear when you look at a map, particularly the hand-drawn one the reenactor had helpfully drawn of the area around Springfield, Union and points east. The British were stationed in Staten Island and made regular forays into New Jersey for food and other supplies, along with the occasional thwarted attempt to kidnap Washington. Troops like Irvine's (possibly the Second Pennsylvania, which he'd led at the Battle of Monmouth in '78) were stationed at various points between New York and Morristown to stop the Brits from coming any farther inland. Besides being defensive mechanisms, these troops also served as an early warning system, letting Washington and his subordinates know about enemy troop movements.

No doubt, the Continentals established dozens of these camps near the logical entry points from New York, meaning that there could be an equal number of small memorials around like the one in the picture above. So many of us in New Jersey could be living and working on top of former Revolutionary War camps without even realizing it. Perhaps blood was not shed there, but each of these spots played a strategic role in protecting Washington, his army and the people of New Jersey from raids and worse. I, for one, am going to open my eyes a bit wider and keep an eye out for them, and I'd love to get a list going. Do you know of any memorials like these anywhere else in the state?